


Collection

by rubyofkukundu



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Non Consensual, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-19
Updated: 2010-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:41:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyofkukundu/pseuds/rubyofkukundu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes home one day to find Sherlock crouched on the floor amidst a series of photographs of a dead body. That part's normal. The next part's not. Because then, Sherlock, who's too busy rearranging the photographs to look up, says, "I need a semen sample."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collection

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted here: <http://sherlockbbc.livejournal.com/749113.html>

Sherlock's fingers twist their way up the length of John's erection with a grip that's tight and slick and fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck fuck fuck_.  
  
But wait. That's not the way it starts.  
  
The way it starts is like this:  
  
John comes home one day to find Sherlock crouched on the floor amidst a series of photographs of a dead body. That part's normal. The next part's not.  
  
Because then, Sherlock, who's too busy rearranging the photographs to look up, says, "I need a semen sample."  
  
John, predictably, asks, "What?"  
  
"I need a semen sample," repeats Sherlock, studying one photograph in detail and then checking his phone. "I need to test for coagulation. Just a small sample will do."  
  
"Wait," says John, bristling with suspicion. "Wait. Why are you telling me this?"  
  
It's then, finally then, that Sherlock looks up at him. "Don't be dense, John. You know perfectly well 'why'."  
  
"What?" says John, then, "No," then, "Wait a moment."  
  
Sherlock sighs with impatience.  
  
"If you need a sample," asks John, "then why can't you, you know," he waves a hand, "get one yourself?"  
  
"I can hardly get a sample from the morgue," reasons Sherlock, checking his phone again.  
  
John has to bite his lip so as not to shout. "That's not what I meant," he says, as calm as he can.  
  
Sherlock gives him a long look. "The suspect is a 38 year-old man," he says, as if he's explaining something particularly obvious, "therefore, for the results to be of any use at all, I need to test a sample that _also_ comes from a 38 year-old man. I can't use my own because I'm not old enough. Whereas..." and he stares at John as if he's waiting for an answer.  
  
John gives him one: "No. No way."  
  
"But," says Sherlock, "you..."  
  
"No!" cries John. "Jesus! I am not going to give you a semen sample!"  
  
And that is the end of that.  
  
Or so John thinks.  
  
If only things were that easy.  
  
Because, at 5am the next morning, John wakes up from a very pleasant dream to find himself naked from the waist down, the bedcovers pulled off of him, and Sherlock kneeling at the side of the bed with shirtsleeves rolled up and lubricated hands working John's cock with _alarming_ efficiency.  
  
Sherlock is utterly absorbed in concentration; it's almost as if he's in a lab undertaking a precise experiment. He hardly seems to notice that John is awake at all.  
  
John would, of course, naturally, ask Sherlock _what the hell he thinks he's doing_ , but John's hampered by the fact that he's already precariously far gone, and his mind is still hazy with sleep, and Sherlock's technique has a skill to it that's making John's toes curl.  
  
Which brings us back to:  
  
Sherlock's fingers twist their way up the length of John's erection with a grip that's tight and slick and fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck fuck fuck_.  
  
John gasps for breath like a dying man and says, " _Sherlock_ ," in the most careful voice he can muster.  
  
Sherlock turns his head to look at him, and Sherlock's hands slow down, but they don't _stop_ and fuck fuck fuck John is so close that he can feel it coiling dangerously in his belly.  
  
"Haah," says John, and has to bite his lip, because Sherlock is twisting his fingers again, only slow this time, _slow_ , and John is so hard that he's going to...  
  
"Stop," gasps John, fingers clenching at his sides. "WaitWaitWait."  
  
"How can people allow themselves to get this incoherent during sexual activity?" Sherlock wonders aloud. "It must be very inconvenient."  
  
"Fuck," says John as two of Sherlock's long, deft fingers make their way down to his perineum and begin to rub in small, circular motions. "Fuck, God, Sherlock, stop."  
  
Sherlock looks at him. "Why?"  
  
"Because... _Jesus_." John's back arches as Sherlock's hands speed up again and John honestly, _honestly_ , can't take much more. "I... oh, _ohfuck_... I'm going to come _right now_."  
  
Sherlock snorts out a laugh and looks at John with something close to endearment. "John," he says, "that _is_ the point."  
  
"But," cries John, trying to hold back a whine as a palm swirls over the head of his erection and all his limbs tense at once. "But... ah! don't you... don't you want to...?"  
  
John reaches orgasm just as a tentative finger begins to push its way inside him. He bites the inside of his mouth and tries not to make a noise, but Sherlock is still stroking him through it and God Fuck Fuck OhYes Fuck...  
  
As soon as he can, John breathes again, deeply, but his mind is still hazy and he's still shaking, and he doesn't have enough energy to do anything, not even when Sherlock holds up a glass and says, "Aha!"  
  
And that glass, which is doubtless from the kitchen, and which John is never _ever_ going to drink from again, is spattered white on the inside.  
  
Within the space of five seconds, Sherlock has pulled out a handkerchief, wiped himself down, and capered out of the room with his prized sample in hand.  
  
John blearily watches him go. He suspects that he should be feeling angry right about now. And a little bit concerned. Angry and concerned and awkward, but in actuality, all John feels is _weary_. Living with Sherlock has the side-effect of taking the shock out of unusual situations. This is just another to add to the list.  
  
It doesn't mean that John's not angry though. Which he is. Probably. He tugs the covers back over himself, rolls over, and resolves that when he wakes up, he's going to have a stern conversation with Sherlock about ' _the importance of obtaining consent first_ '.


End file.
